Surviving as a Rogue Hospital Director - Chapter 37

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 37
So Jeong had a lot on her mind these days. While treatment was well underway, her rapport with her patient Kim Jun-ho was barely in its infancy.
‘If things go on like this, he’ll only suffer.’
Worried about Kim Jun-ho, So Jeong found herself visiting him more and more.
There are many ways for a doctor to treat a patient well, but the most common is making frequent rounds. There’s nothing as effective as seeing a patient’s face regularly.
“Hello, sir.”
“….”
But Kim Jun-ho gave no response as expected. Since his name was even a temporary designation, there was truly nothing she knew about this patient.
At the door to his room, at the foot and head of the bed, on the bracelet around his wrist—surrounded by false names, So Jeong explained to him.
“The name we’re using is just temporary, so don’t worry about it. We need it for the procedures.”
“….”
He barely reacted, though his expression remained the same,
So Jeong wanted Beom Jun’s manual not to go to waste. To update it and give it back properly, she needed to put in more effort than she was now.
“How’s your body feeling today? Thankfully, your blood work this morning showed improvement.”
“….”
Unfortunately, the more she tried, the more the patient shut himself away. She couldn’t fathom why. He turned his body toward the window and showed her his back.
“You’ll have a second surgery tomorrow. Last time, we removed the bullet as urgently as we could and raised your condition. This time, we’ll reconstruct the damaged organs and nerves.”
So Jeong continued explaining, speaking toward the back of his head.
Since tissue loss was severe, you’d likely need a third surgery as well. To minimize the burden on you as much as possible, we’re coordinating with Orthopedic Surgery.
We’ll only synchronize the anesthesia, so we’re just overlapping the schedule with OS. The surgery to insert metal rods or remove bone fragments will proceed simultaneously.
“After the second surgery, your pain should decrease significantly. But if it still hurts too much, you really need to say something. If the light on the PCA device turns red, let me know. Got it?”
After the first surgery, he’d been given a PCA device—a patient-controlled analgesia pump—to hold in his hand.
Each time he pressed the button, a certain amount of painkiller would be administered. There was a cool time to prevent overdosing, and his was set to ten minutes.
Yet in just two days, he’d already used an entire cartridge. Not saying a word, when in fact his pain was extreme.
‘Ugh, I was wondering why his blood pressure wouldn’t stabilize even with Nicardipine… He should say something if it hurts.’
After surgery, he’d struggled with uncontrolled blood pressure—it turned out his blood pressure had risen from enduring the pain. When there’s no communication between patient and doctor, the time wasted on confusion only increases.
Leaving Kim Jun-ho with his back turned, So Jeong stepped out of the room with a heavy heart.
Armed soldiers stood guard on both sides of the door, and So Jeong gave them an awkward nod.
There was a reason the hospital director had insisted on providing the VIP Ward. The involvement of the Ministry of Defense would be a nuisance to other patients, he’d said—and it truly was.
As So Jeong turned to leave, she caught sight of a familiar face in the hospital corridor and her eyes widened.
“Oh? Professor Sung Hyuk, isn’t it?”
“I just stopped by. I have another patient admitted here as well.”
Sung Hyuk added that he’d come to check on another patient in the ward, without So Jeong even asking. He scratched the back of his head as he said it.
For a moment, So Jeong felt the soldiers at the door focusing on their conversation, so she suggested to Sung Hyuk that they move to another location.
“Would you like to go over there? There’s a rooftop garden.”
Unlike other areas, the VIP Ward had a terrace attached to it. This spot, where the main gate leading to Gyeongbokgung Palace was visible at a glance, was also called the Rooftop Garden.
As they stepped outside, the cool smell of autumn washed over them. The red and golden fall foliage, in full bloom, seemed like a painting against the blue tile roof.
Standing side by side on the rooftop, the two continued their conversation while taking in the view.
“You must have a lot on your plate.”
“Not at all. It’s thanks to you. I’m using the manual really well.
To Sung Hyuk’s comment, So Jeong spoke carefully.
Thanks to the Unidentified Patient Manual provided by the Department of Thoracic Surgery, she’d been able to find a caregiver through a Social Welfare Organization, and Kim Jun-ho’s medical expenses had been partially covered as well.
“I wasn’t the one managing the manual—honestly, I’d forgotten about it too. I’m just glad the hospital director reminded me.”
“Oh really? I did see the director again. From what I’d heard about him, he seemed, you know, kind of scary.”
It would have been phrased more bluntly, but So Jeong softened much of what she’d heard before expressing it.
“He’s someone with a lot to teach the more you see him.”
“But when did the two of you become so close?”
Once the conversation turned genuinely to Beom Jun, So Jeong turned and leaned her back against the railing, while Sung Hyuk looked down at her, her eyes gleaming pitch black.
“The hospital director is also in thoracic surgery, so he probably understands the situation well.”
“Hmm, I suppose? But you two didn’t seem that close before.”
At So Jeong’s words, Sung Hyuk recalled barging into the director’s office in a fit of rage. Back then, he’d seemed possessed by demons while obsessing over Lee Seo’s surgery.
But he didn’t tell So Jeong about his own immaturity and clumsiness so directly.
“Lately I’ve been visiting him often.”
He spoke only about what he was doing well. To her concerns, he offered easy solutions.
“Oh really? Can I just drop by anytime? Won’t you be too busy?”
“He’ll make time even if he’s busy. He’s the type who thinks of his staff first.”
At Sung Hyuk’s words, So Jeong turned back to gaze out at the view.
“Well then, I’m relieved.”
Having gotten the answer she wanted, her dimples deepened.
* * *
A few days later, in the director’s office.
Beom Jun was checking Kim Jun-ho’s progress notes every day.
‘Nothing again today. He still hasn’t said a word.’
– (S) :
The Subjective section—where the patient expresses his symptoms subjectively—was completely blank.
The fact that Kim Jun-ho wasn’t saying anything was never a good sign.
The series had contained no detailed information about this patient.
‘Rather than Sung Hyuk and So Jeong flirting, this should have been the main focus. They glossed over the really important parts.’
Beom Jun finally stood up from his chair. It was to build rapport with Kim Jun-ho.
Quest or not, he was also another doctor. He couldn’t stand by and watch a patient go unattended.
It was after 6 p.m. All the permanent staff had left, and only the nurses on shift were manning the hospital.
The hospital was unusually quiet and calm. The VIP Ward especially wasn’t a place where outsiders would pass through.
—Creak.
The sound of Beom Jun opening the door to the room broke that silence. Kim Jun-ho noticed Beom Jun entering and quickly looked away again.
From the records he’d seen many times, Beom Jun had already begun to feel familiar with him, but to the patient, Beom Jun was a complete stranger.
In a short moment, he scanned Beom Jun from head to foot. It was the expression of someone on high alert.
“Hello, I’m Beom Jun Choi, director of Korean University Hospital. How is your body feeling?”
At Beom Jun’s greeting, he shifted his gaze toward the window, expressing through his whole body that he had no desire to converse.
Beom Jun approached the patient slowly. The Ministry of Defense had requested a private room, which meant it was as isolated as solitary confinement.
Beom Jun sat on the chair at the foot of the bed. Sensing someone’s presence, the patient showed no movement whatsoever. There was no way he hadn’t noticed Beom Jun coming.
Outside the window he was looking at, leaves kept falling whenever the wind blew.
Instead of attempting conversation, Beom Jun looked out at what the patient was seeing.
It was to give him a sense of peace.
Waiting at an appropriate distance so he could express himself freely. For Beom Jun, the foundation of building rapport with a patient was patience.
In front of Gyeongbokgung Palace in his line of sight, there was a family of tourists. Dressed in Korean traditional clothes of various colors,
and a small boy, about four years old, was getting a piggyback ride from his father.
“Hahaha! Daddy, that way, that way!”
The boy grabbed his father’s hair and moved it as if controlling a game controller, and the patient’s pupils followed the child.
Beom Jun noticed this, but waited with patience.
In this way, more time passed. Until the family entered Gyeongbokgung Palace and disappeared from view.
“Sigh.”
It was the patient’s deep sigh that broke the silence. Just by breathing, a tremor could be felt.
“I had a daughter once, about that size.”
The first words, uttered with difficulty, must have occupied the largest portion of his mind right now.
So that was his family. And ‘had’ meant ‘don’t have now.’
“Ugh, oh…”
Words broke through, and tears followed. As if carved by sorrow, he swallowed the sound and stifled his sobs.
Beom Jun did not offer hasty comfort. He didn’t pretend to understand carelessly either.
In front of Beom Jun, Kim Jun-ho’s shoulders heaved. Holding back tears had cut off his breath. His lungs cried out for air. The muscles supporting his breathing contracted around him.
Just as drowning men flounder and those falling from heights flail their limbs—it was a purely natural response.
But he forcibly pulled the muscles, maintained proper posture, and Beom Jun watched closely. He was refusing an instinctive movement with tremendous willpower.
‘He can control it through training like this.’
The ability to endure so relentlessly seemed miraculous. It was probably a trace of having survived rigorous training.
Beom Jun instinctively knew that no words would comfort him.
Tears fell below his chin as he buried his face in one hand. The blanket just below was already deeply stained.
Beom Jun waited until his emotion subsided. Keeping vigil without words. It amounted to Therapeutic Silence—not intervening, but following the patient’s emotions.
He picked up the tissue on the table and placed it in the man’s hand.
“Hic, oh…”
He still stifled his sobs with hiccups, but his shoulders, which had been heaving little by little, finally calmed.
When he lifted his head a moment later, at last the patient looked directly at Beom Jun without averting his eyes. Beom Jun recognized that he was ready to talk.
This was it—the moment to speak.
“You don’t have to speak. I’m here to listen if you want.”
Beom Jun handed over control of the conversation, allowing him to choose. Without forcing anything.
“…I am called Ri Mu-sung.”
Mu-sung opened his mouth slowly and introduced himself.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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